


There's a little bit of something me in everything in you

by Nasyat



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Established Relationship, Gen, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Mild Language, One Shot Collection, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Partnership
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-01 12:36:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20815271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nasyat/pseuds/Nasyat
Summary: Started a writing challenge (?) with a friend. Might as well post my doings hereThis is a one-shot/drabble collection dedicated to Eddsworld.





	1. Under the northern lights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the song "Take Ecstasy with Me" by The Magnetic Fields

He slipped off the dark slippery plastic (even though the seat was slightly matted with grain – still, it was plastic, not the most "grabby" material) and fell. It was like a series of short films, a sequence – here he feels his hands getting a bit weak, there he's actually slipping off, then the grey, dirty snow that's uncomfortably close to his face, and finally, darkness, hit and roll. And now he's laying on his back and looking at the star-speckled sky.  
He heard the sound of their black snowmobile stopping in the near distance. Then the sound of Tom hopping off and approaching him through the thick snow.  
"Matt? You alright there?"  
No. Of course he isn't. He just fell off the snowmobile on top speed. Maybe he's sprained an ankle. Or broke a rib, he hasn't decided yet. The northern lights looked nice, on the other hand.  
Tom's crunching feet stepped up right next to him, and Matt turned his eyes away from the glowing ribbons and towards the other's hair sticking up proudly and with a touch of anger under the earflaps' band. Ah, just as good as the Aurora Borealis. If he were to give his opinion.  
"Matt? Quit laying around, we gotta go."  
"I can't feel my limbs, Tom," Matt replied in a grave tone and sniffled grossly. "I don't have much time. You gotta move on without me, please, go and try to find something that makes you happy out there."  
Tom's face scrunched up in annoyance. His expression clearly read "I know you're lying", so he shrugged and said:  
"Alright."  
That son of a gun even had the guts to turn away from him and start walking towards the snowmobile. Matt practically sprung to his feet.  
"TOM, YOU MEAN CUCUMBER!!! IT WOULDN'T KILL YOU TO ACT AT LEAST A LITTLE BIT SAD, WOULD IT?!"  
"Oh, you're fine," Tom replied nonchalantly, as he looked back at him. He smiled a little at the sight of Matt fuming, and sighed as if he were disappointed. Matt nearly jumped again.  
"TOM!!! YOU, YOU-"  
"Calm down, Matt," the eyeless reached out his hand. Matt looked at it darkly, but took nonetheless. "Here. You didn't actually get hurt, or did you?"  
"Well, now my pride is definitely in pain," Matt muttered. Tom gave him a side smirk as they started walking towards the vehicle together, so Matt had to admit, with great reluctance: "No, I don't think I'm hurt. Like, at all. Kind of a bummer, I could use some pampering right now."  
"Not a chance," Tom cut him off, flatly. The redhead immediately set off, plaining, and Tom couldn't help but laugh. That made the other stop in his tracks and beam, bright as the lighthouse bulb. He loved getting a good laugh from Tom.  
"Will you make me some coffee at the cabin?" he asked and batted his eyes. Tom let go of his hand in favor of putting both palms in his coat pockets.  
"This late at night? You'll have trouble sleeping."  
"Well, how about hot chocolate, then?"  
"That I could do."  
"YAY!!!"  
"But I won't. Make it yourself."  
"Awww, Tom… why are so mean?" Matt whined again. He was still upset about Tom putting his hand away, and was subtly pulling on his sleeve now. Eventually, Matt had to settle for just awkwardly holding his elbow.  
"I'm not mean, I'm mean to you," Tom replied. "There's a difference."  
"Toooommmm," Matt stopped and crossed his arms, pouting his lower lip. Tom walked a couple more steps and also stopped, in order to check on him over the shoulder. "This is too much. I don't like it."  
"Oh, jeez," Tom said. A little cloud came from his mouth and disappeared in the night. "You don't think I'm actually being serious. Do you?"  
"Well…" Matt looked at him, still grimly but also a bit uncertain.  
"Matt. Stop acting like a baby."  
"I'm not, you are! A mean, angry, insufferable baby! Also, rude!"  
"Bad, bad, bad, and also bad," finalized Tom. He was growing impatient. "Got it. Come on, we should hurry, the others are waiting. I'm already preparing myself for how that shit-eating commie is gonna hint at us stopping to have a quick shag in the snow or some other gross stuff like that."  
"That doesn't sound safe," Matt replied but didn't move. Tom sighed again. This time with frustration.  
"What is it, Matt?"  
"You don't have to act this mean when others aren't around, you know?"  
"I don't do it because-"  
"Tom."  
Tom breathed out of his nose, hard, and looked away.  
"You're right," he murmured. Matt tilted his square chin, and Tom elaborated, "I don't have to."  
He stood there, his back turned, life escaping his mouth in a form of vapor.  
"I should stop doing that," he suddenly said very clearly. "Like, at all. That's a reflex now."  
That prompted Matt to raise his brows in surprise.  
"Really?" he asked, and clarified, "At all? At all times, and places, and-"  
"And circumstances, yes," Tom finished for him. Matt fell silent, considering. "This is like a loop now. Sounds like a loop. And I'm trapped in a cassette."  
"I'm sorry, Tom, but I don't understand," the redhead replied carefully. Tom chuckled, but with no joy to it.  
"Just say that you don't believe me."  
"It's a bit hard to do so," Matt admitted, after a pause.  
"Right."  
They stood there in silence, until Matt took a couple of slow, snow-crushing steps towards Tom and put a hand on his shoulder. Tom readily grabbed at it, a saving straw. Matt felt that the other's fingers were dangerously cold. Like ice. That was something Tom liked to put in his whiskey.  
"Wanna try to slip in so nobody sees us?" Matt offered. Tom laughed breathlessly.  
"And how are you planning to pull that off, genius? They are expecting us."  
"Easy. We'll just pretend we never left."  
"Edd literally walked us to the door, Matt."  
"Edd drinks too much rum with cola these days. Well, cola with rum, but you get the idea."  
"I do. I suppose…"  
The grip of his fingers tightened.  
"Eh, what the heck. Let's try. Why not?"  
"Yes!" Matt grinned ear to ear and put another hand on Tom to shake him about. Tom laughed, perhaps a bit sheepishly. "Are we gonna wing it?"  
"Naturally. Duh."  
"Great! High five!"  
When Tom's palm collided with his, Matt immediately latched onto it with his fingers. Tom looked at his captured hand, then back at Matt, who was grinning like a madman.  
"Oh, a rascal, I see," he commented. Matt chuckled, and then gave him a mischievous wink.  
"Wanna try shagging in the snow?"  
"Ew, no," Tom replied honestly. Matt broke the character and laughed again. "We'll definitely get hypothermia from that."  
"Indubitably."  
"So, are we going or not? Dude, I'm freezing."  
"I'll give you my jacket!"  
"No, you won't."  
"Yes, I will!"  
"I will literally throw it on the ground and trample over it a few times."  
"Fine, then I'll just hug you really tight!"  
"That… will do."  
"Really?"  
"Yeah."  
On the way back, as they swooshed through the snow and Matt was practically heaping over Tom, he had a thought.  
Something very important. Something he had to write down in order to remember. But Matt didn't have a paper, or a pencil on him, or the hands available for any stationary whatsoever. So he just leaned in and whispered that thought to Tom. The other couldn't hear him over the roaring engine, of course, so eventually Matt resigned to just screaming the godforsaken words into his ear.  
As they tried to climb through the window, the clumsy redhead collapsed on top of the bedside table and broke it spectacularly.  
Mission, failed. Innuendos, on and on for the rest of the trip. A total fiasco. Better think twice before going out "to feed polar bears" only to end up spending a solid hour snogging in the snow-bound desert after all.


	2. Chords

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Word prompt: fifteen, chords, sunrise

One plastic string hums. Tom looks at it vibrate, and before it has time to stop, he rearranges his fingers and strikes a chord.  
A bass is not that great for a solo. He tries, though, but it's just too different from the acoustic guitar, the 'normal' one, as they call it. A bass guitar is a background rhythm, an accompaniment – which is not a bad thing, Tom thinks, as he pinches the strings and Susan drones on.  
Not a bad thing at all. Every hero needs a sidekick. You still come second place, but hey, at least you're with a Superman. Getting lost in a crowd only sucks until you realize you're in a movie.  
Tom's strumming. #D, #D, it's hard to play the usual when you only have four strings out of six. You cannot do a full #E when you're playing bass-guitar, because your #E would just be an #Am. His fingers twitch, and he fruitlessly spams it. #Am, #Am, #Am – but there's no #T chord. There is no #O chord, or #M chord either.  
Not fair.  
"What are you doing?"  
He raises his face to look at Matt, who has propped his elbows on the bed while sitting on the floor. The ginger leans his face onto the palms of his hands and suddenly looks fifteen years younger.  
"Nothing," Tom replies. He changes to an #A and tries to ignore Matt's curious gaze. "Just playing. What do you think I'm doing?"  
"I don't know, but you definitely look like you're doing something," replies Matt genially. Tom stops 'doing something' and gives him a stare.  
"Well, you look stupid," he says, and Matt chuckles.  
"Rude!"  
But he doesn't seem offended, not in the slightest. Normally, Tom would push him further, but today is not the day. He's not prepared for the shit that comes afterwards, crashing through roofs and floors and everything therein. His own shit.  
"I'm just trying to figure something out," Tom mutters, and strikes an #Am again. Matt watches him with curiosity.  
"What, exactly?" he insists, but Tom just grumbles. "Oh, come on. Do YOU even know what it is?"  
"Are you planning to hang around here all night?" Tom snaps, and his guitar also sounds upset. Edd could smash Susan on the floor, but Matt would only steal Tom's sandwich.  
"If you let me, yes," Matt says, "but you probably won't." He gets up to actually place his arse on the bed, which is way more comfortable than kneeling. Then he reaches his hand out.  
"You're trying to remember a combination or something?"  
"What combination? You mean, a chord?" Tom asks darkly, ignoring the outstretched palm, and Matt nods with enthusiasm.  
"Yes! A chord. You've been stuck on these few, can't you come up with something different?"  
"I only have four strings, Matt."  
"But five fingers!"  
Tom spends some proper half a minute just staring at the ginger, who has his arms crossed in defense, before uttering, very slowly:  
"I use my thumb to hold the neck."  
"The what?"  
"The neck."  
"Oh! That thing?"  
"Yes."  
They spend more time in complete, deafening silence. It stretches on. It almost rings.  
"I'm sure there must be some other combinations," Matt says, finally. "If you have four strings, four fingers and many-many positions on the, um, the neck, there's gotta be a big number of possible chords." Upon hearing these words, Tom's lips jerk upwards.  
"Perhaps. Not all of them are physically possible, though. Or sound good, for that matter."  
"That's true," his friend agrees, without any squirming or aping, and lies on his stomach before Tom's checkered feet. Tom is pleasantly surprised at that. Or maybe, surprisingly pleased.  
"So, don't you wanna go to bed?" he asks. His guitar is humming lowly, and Tom enjoys the soothe of that background noise.  
"I'm alread at your bed," replies Matt. "I'd like to listen to you till the sun rises, and so forth."  
"That's just stupid," Tom says. He could move his socked foot a little and shove it into Matt's face, but he doesn't. "Besides, I am going to sleep soon myself."  
"Oh! I could watch over you, then. Guard your dreams, is that how they say it?"  
Tom's unable to hold back a chuckle. God knows, he tries, but revenge is a dish served late. If ever.  
"Really, 'they' who? The gays?" he asks, and his face breaks into full-blown amusement. It's almost awkward. Matt huffs.  
"No," he replies, and then says nothing else.  
Tom waits for a continuation, but Matt is oddly quiet, scraping his bedcover with a distraught expression.  
"You can't sleep, can you?"  
Matt frowns harder, and Tom knows it's a yes.  
"Come here," he says, and makes some room on the bed. Matt suddenly looks very sad; his eyes droop, and so do the corners of his lips as he asks Tom for a favor:  
"Will you manage to wake me up when the sun finally shows? I miss it."  
"I'll need an alarm set for that," Tom admits. And pats the bed next to him. Matt wordlessly crawls over and curls into a big salty bagel.  
"How many chords are there? For the four strings?" he mumbles exhaustedly. Tom just ruffles Matt's orange hair.  
"Thirty, or something," he replies. "Don't overthink it."  
"Still, no #T chord?"  
It stuns Tom, and he cannot gather his wits for fifteen minutes or so. By the time he does, Matt's already snoring, forehead pressed to the seam of Tom's grey jeans.  
"If I'm the #T," Tom whispers, "then you must be the #Q. To my #T. Nah, that's just… weak. Ouch, man."  
Matt doesn't say anything. Tom feels relieved and pities it at the same time.


End file.
